The 80th Hunger Games: The Capitol's Wrath
by vandenburgs
Summary: AU. The rebellion was good for nothing and now Peeta and Katniss have become puppets of the Capitol. However, there might still be a chance to end the Games's madness — will this year's Games ignite the spark of a new rebellion?
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

x.x

I hear a soft voice whispering into my ear, as every other night. I try to sleep, but my mind is blocked. I still see Rue, Cato and Clove as vividly as the first day back from the Arena, and still Peeta and my new _friends_ — I reckon that's what I'm meant to call the Odairs, who have always been there for me since the Quarter Quell — don't seem capable of filling the great gape the Games have left inside me. Nothing would be, I think.

"We'd better rest, Katniss," Peeta whispers again, his chin against my pate. "Tomorrow's the big day."

I snort ever so lightly. _The big day_. Reapings Day. The Capitol, of course, is hugely expecting the Games to come, as every other year. We will be sent back to them with a pair of two scared, unprepared and very possibly undernourished who will die within the first three days of the Games. That's what has been happening for the last six years, anyway – the furthest one of our tributes got was eighth position two years ago, but not even that is good enough. I've seen their mothers in the streets, their siblings, their friends — their boyfriends and girlfriends, even. They didn't blame me for what happened to their children, but deep inside I know they sort of do. The girl on fire, the symbol of the rebellion! How come she's now too scared to begin the quietest of stirrings in the Capitol?

I unconsciously gulp and a second later I feel how Peeta presses a kiss to the back of my head. It's not that I don't love him — because I do — but I hate being weak around him. Although I suppose after the last six years he really has seen me in all of my ups and lows.

"Rest, love."

I nod quietly and close my eyes. I have no idea of what will happen tomorrow, but at least I'll have Peeta by my side.


	2. Meet The Tributes

Yo, whaddup! Here's the final tribute list.

**District 1**

Male: Flinn Cooper (18) ~ tasherekalb.

Female: Rebecca Star (16) ~ makemewrite57.

Mentors: Gloss and Cashmere.

**District 2**

Male: Wyatt Lane (18) ~ JGrayzz.

Female: reserved for The First Maraudette (TFM is ill and will send her character in asap).

Mentors: Brutus and Enobaria.

**District 3**

Male: Daniel Berg (17) ~ Mine.

Female: Alicia Rhodes (16) ~ cluelessclown.

Mentors: Wiress and Beetee.

**District 4**

Male: Kai Seagray (16) ~ mountainman91.

Female: Lana Clearwater (17) ~ HidingBehindMyDreams

Mentors: Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta.

**District 5**

Male: Cade Allens (18) ~ bijtjen.

Female: Iris Crimson (14) ~ rilliusin.

Mentors: Jungri Clemin (55) and Julina (27) (tasherekalb).

**District 6**

Male: Jason Matthews (16) ~ SukiStory.

Female: Zoya Peshkov (16) ~ Mine.

Mentors: Johan Smith (30) and Ashley Mako (28) (DarylDixon'sgirl1985).

**District 7**

Male: Johannes Bjarnsen (13) ~ mountainman91.

Female: Colette McLellan (12) ~ tasherekalb.

Mentors: Johanna Mason and Blight.

**District 8**

Male: Nikolai "Niki" Heidenberg (13) ~ cluelessclown.

Female: Aurora Anderson (14) ~ SukiStory.

Mentors: Cecelia and Woof.

**District 9**

Male: Cress Swallow (13) ~ rilliusin.

Female: Cilla Redding (15) ~ LittleMissHerondale.

Mentors: Simon Newton (30) and Emily Grapes (27) (cluelessclown).

**District 10**

Male: Aries Browning (15) ~ Anonymous.

Female: Hada Wickerson (12) ~ Anonymous.

Mentors: Jean Lamb (40) and Lana Merriwether (36) (mine).

**District 11**

Male: Cristano "Cris" Lerete (17) ~ Bri P.

Female: Isabella Swain (14) ~ DarylDixon'sgirl1985

Mentors: Chaff and Seeder.

**District 12**

Male: Ryunsuki Parker (18) ~ jaffacakesyumm

Female: Mitsy Parker (15) ~ jaffacakesyumm

Mentors: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

So that's it, guys! I already have all of my brilliant tributes. I'll be picking out the names out of a hat sometime tonight, and I'll post the 'results' as soon as possible. From that, I suppose I'll be able to type a chapter every two days or so. Depends on the length of my daily homework. But I hope to be able to write around three chapters a week while typing the pre-Games, and one per week once the Games begin.

As a reminder of the procedure I'll follow — I'll draw names out of a hat to decide the four Reapings I will be writing. Then, I will pick other four names to write the train rides, another four to decide the chariot rides, four for the training, four for the Gamemaker sessions, four for the interviews and four for the Blood Bath. I will pick seven names out of a hat and those tributes will die in the Blood Bath. Then, I will start writing random POVs, drawing names out of a hat. As you may have guessed, I do love drawing names out of a hat. Particularly if it's my _super awesome Batman cap_. Heh.

I have decided to change the dice method because I saw way too many flaws in it. Instead of that, I'll simply continue drawing names out of a hat and write down the order of deaths as they come out — but I shall remind you, these Games _might_ be slightly different to the previous ones. You'll see what that means in a few chapters' time._  
_

As for the Arena and such… I do have a few ideas, but I'm more than open to any sorts of suggestions.

Remember, reviews make me love your characters even more (?) Nah, just kidding. But it really would be neat if you guys gave me a few thoughts and stuff — just to make sure I'm doing things right with your characters and such.

Said that… happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!

~vandenburgs.


	3. Reaping I — Cilla Redding, D9

**Reaping I**

_Cilla Redding, District 9_

x.x

"I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones, enough to make my systems grow. Welcome to the new age, to the new age."

**Radioactive **— Imagine Dragons

x.x

I'm sometimes asked why do I like wearing my hair in a ponytail. Well, I suppose it's more of an habit than anything else. It keeps my lousy black hair out of my face, and I sort of feel like I can solve things more easily when I have my hair tied up. Stupid, I know – but I suppose almost every habit is just a wee bit stupid anyway.

Today I'm not wearing my hair in a ponytail. My mother has just pinned a navy blue ribbon to keep the messy black locks away from my face. I'm standing in front of my bedroom mirror – wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, skinny . . . _too skinny_, I'd say. Gosh, I'm so dull. At least that's the way I see myself.

I glance down at my clothes. I'm wearing my best today — a cream blouse and a light brown skirt, along with black ballet flats scuffed on the toes. Nothing special, I remind myself. I'm average . . . just average, Cilla. Remember that. The Capitol won't be queasy about killing you if you're reaped.

God, it's so comforting to have such a _sweet_ subconscious.

"Cilla, c'mon! We're gonna be late!" my little brother Jamie won't stop yelling, so I just go downstairs and find mum sitting beside the fireside with my little sister Lila on her lap. She looks at me quietly, almost gingerly, and then smiles kindly.

"You look beautiful, Cilla," she whispers.

I nod quietly, walking over to the two of them and taking little Lila in my arms. She's the sweetest thing, my little sister — until she starts poking you with a crayon and comes home chirping happily about the Games they had shown her class today. I run my fingers down her brown locks, which look identical to my father's. He and my two older brothers died during the Rebellion, and mum went only slightly berserk. It was horrible at first — I can remember being like nine and watching her hold her knees and rock herself back and forth all day long. She started . . . sort of bringing _men_ home every day. Like, different men. I can't remember any of their faces, but I do remember listening to mum crying herself to sleep after they left. We somehow got on with life, and I managed to start earning some money by teaching Math to the little kids at my school. Jamie has never really been aware of this, but the first two or three years after dad and my brothers died were a real struggle.

I kiss my sister's forehead and then glance at Jamie. He walks over to mum and tugs on her hand gently. A few seconds later, she seems to come back to her senses, stands up and whispers, "I'll take Lila. You two go over as soon as you can." With that, she takes my sister away from me and walks away quietly. I frown and glance at Jamie, who shrugs. We cannot complain, but the truth is that I really hate what my mother has turned into.

"Let's get moving, Jay." I whisper finally.

We both leave the house quietly and dubiously, wondering whether we will get reaped or not. It is Jamie's first Reaping, and surprisingly enough he doesn't seem to be all that scared. I cross my arms as we start walking down the street, still engulfed in a silence we're both accustomed to.

"Cilla, can I ask you something?"

I look at him and shrug my shoulders lightly. "What's it?"

Jamie seems to hesitate for a moment. Then, he lowers his voice and whispers, "Is mother a whore?"

Oh, all right. I had forgotten he's already twelve, and that our District is fairly small and so rumours tend to get around quite quickly. I look at him for a moment, before sighing and glancing down at my black ballet flats.

"That's a very rude word," I point out.

Jamie snorts. "You haven't answered yet."

"I haven't answered because that's nothing you should call mother."

"So it's true, right?" He glares at me, his hands deep into his trousers' pockets. "Those men. They come to our house and . . . do _that sort of stuff_ to her, right? And then they pay her a shitload of money and that's why we haven't freaking starved yet." He catches a breath, as though he had been planning to say that from ages ago. I had never known my brother even _knew_ how to use swear words, but apparently he had learned a few at home.

For the first time ever, I have no idea what to answer. My brother was right about that — but despite how much I despised my mother, I could not come to the point of calling her that._  
_

"Where've you heard that, Jay?" I ask quietly.

He shrugs. "Some kids were talking about her at school. They teased me about going to our house and . . . you know." He glares down to his hands and I notice his knuckles are so tight they've gone white. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill them, sure as hell."

I gulp quietly, not sure of what to say. I had somehow grown used to those men roaming up and down our house every night, but very evidently Jamie didn't take it that way. I place a hand on his shoulder right before we arrive to District 9's town square, and make him look at me.

"Listen, Jamie. I know – I know it's hard to understand, okay?" I whisper. "But we don't have a choice. Mum . . . well, she's really sick, you know. They won't hire her anywhere. I can't earn enough money to sustain all four of us, and I'd rather see her upset than Lila starving to death."

My brother looks down, as though he wants to burn holes on the soles of his shoes. When he looks up again, I find tears filling his blue eyes. They're my dad's.

"But this is not fair," he chokes. "Why does it have to be us? Why not the bloody mayor, or the bloody Ralf Keine? Why _us_?" A tear rolls down his cheek and he furiously tries to rub it off with the back of his hand.

Instead of letting him cry, I hug him tightly and kiss his cheek. I usually hate physical contact, but Jamie and I have always been terribly close and it kills me to see him this way. I ruffle his hair and tell him everything is going to be all right. When it looks as though he's calmed down a little, he hugs me tighter.

"I'm sorry. I had to ask you, in case either of us gets reaped." He presses his eyes closed and then quietly backs away from the hug. "You're such a great big sister, Cilla."

"You're not a bad little brother, either." I smile quietly, ruffling his hair. A moment later, the town hall clock strikes twelve and I look at him sadly, "I think we're meant to leave now."

He nods quietly, and so we walk to the town square shoulder-to-shoulder, in a comfortable silence. Once we're split into our age groups, I wave him goodbye and walk over to my friends, Stef and Cayla. I used to have a whole load of friends before the rebellion, but most of them kind of dumped me after learning my father had been the instigator of our District's rebellion. These two stuck still stuck by me, though, and I was really grateful for that.

"Hey, Cills," says Stef, greeting me with a slight pat on my shoulder. "Doing fine? I saw you and Jamie before."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. I'm never fine, but I can't tell my friends what's wrong with my mother. It's not because they won't understand, but simply because I feel too embarrassed about it. "Geez, my name is in like sixteen times this year."

"Gosh, really?" asks Cayla. She's a rather wealthy girl, and although I love her dearly it sometimes annoys me that she doesn't seem to understand we don't all have things she takes for granted. "Mine's in, like, three or four times. Like, I'm almost sure I won't get picked." Oh, and I have I mentioned she says _like_ a lot? _Like_, a lot?

Stef chuckles quietly and pats my back again. I know he understands what I'm going through, as his father and brother were killed back in the Rebellion as well. He now lives with his mother, who's an average District 9 worker.

Our Capitol, Bvata Nora, escort walks onstage and starts rambling about the Hunger Games as every other year. I close my eyes and try to zone out, wondering about Jamie and what he has told me before. What if he gets reaped? Or what if _I_ get reaped? Will mum care for the slightest? I'm not even all that sure about that.

"Ladies first!" chirps Bvata gleefully, her hand swimming through the ocean of paper slips containing the names of every girl between twelve and eighteen in District 9. Cayla bites her nails anxiously, and Stef squeezes my hand reassuringly. I hope everything will be all right.

"Cilla Redding!"

Yeah. Well done, Cilla.

* * *

**So that was the first reaping! Hope you guys enjoyed it. This came out as slightly longer than I'd planned it to be — pre-Games chapters will be around 1.000 words long each.**

**So yeah – any thoughts, comments, ideas? Feel free to review.**

**Coming next – Iris Crimson, District 5.**

~vandenburgs.


	4. Reaping II — Iris Crimson, District 5

**Reaping II**

_Iris Crimson, District 5_

x.x

"Take any moment, any time; a lover on the left, a sinner on the right. Lay in the atmosphere a casual affair."

**Casual Affair **— Panic! At The Disco

x.x

I look around quietly as I walk down to the kitchen. Dad's not home today – nothing new, really. He's never been here ever since mum died like five years ago. I sit in the kitchen, eating my breakfast quietly. I always do things quietly, even when I'm entirely alone. I really like it when nobody notices me, because attention makes me feel far too uncomfortable. I've never really tried to make friends since mum died, to be entirely honest – she passed away when I was nine and most of my friends kind of dumped me after that. Not that I mind being alone, anyway. I love reading and taking long walks around the District. So yeah, I'm fine most of the time.

I finish my breakfast and wash the dishes before walking upstairs to get on my Reaping clothes. I suppose I look prettier when I look at my reflection in the mirror – I'm wearing a white undershirt and beige trousers. Nothing special, nothing shrilly. Just plain and smart, not unlike myself.

I start humming softly as I comb my rusty red hair and finish getting ready for the _big day_. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I were reaped – I'm not even sure anyone would care all that much anyway. I've no friends aside from my books, and I don't think my dad will bother sobering up for the Reaping. But I still don't think getting reaped would be . . . nice, to put it sweetly.

It's cold outside when I finish getting ready, but I can't bother going back inside to take a jacket. Instead I just cross my arms and quietly make my way to the town square. There's lots of kids roaming about when I get there, and I see how a group of girls from my class snicker at me when I get sorted into my group. I know their names perfectly: Keira, Martha and Louisa. They used to be my friends until mum passed away. I gaze down, trying not to feel all too hurt by their mean glances. I'm sure they're talking about my pants – they once told me they look hideous on me, but I can't be bothered to tell my father I need new ones. I'm always asleep when he gets home, if he gets there at all.

"Look at _Freakrimson_." That's what they usually call me. "She's wearing one of those hideous shirts – _again_." Well, at least it's not my pants anymore.

They all seem to go boldly quiet when our escort walks onstage. He's a plump, cheery man by the name of Mattathias Brisbane. His skin is bright green this year and his eye colour has changed to a dark purple. He looks kind of freakish I suppose, but he's not as bad as other escorts.

"He - he - hello, my children!" Our round-faced escort smiles widely at us. Like we're all _dying_ to meet him personally or something. "Welcome once again to our yearly assemble. Today we're here to choose those who will be graced with representing our dear District 5 in the 80th Hunger Games!"

I look up at the sky, deciding I don't need to hear what Mattathias is saying. Instead, I zone out and start counting the little birds flapping their wings above me. I've always loved them, birds. They're free to fly away from everything and just stay up there, soaring up and down the sky. They've no limits; nothing can control them. Such gorgeous creatures, birds.

"Ladies first," says Matthathias with a smile after his speech.

"I hope Freakrimson gets picked," giggles Keira, nodding at me. The other two laugh along and I can only try to sink a little lower into the ground.

The seconds watching how Matthathias picks a name from the bowl seem to be endless. I frown, the girls hold their breaths, and the boys glance either curiously or worriedly at our escort. He finally drags a little slip of paper out, and looks at it theatrically only to announce the reaped girl's name a second later.

"Iris Crimson."

The entire town square falls silent. Nearly no-one knows me in the District, and some girls are glancing around worriedly, waiting for someone to burst out crying or hearing a sibling or friend calling out a sharp "no!". But nobody does. Keira, Martha and Louisa glare at me scornfully, and I feel completely and utterly terrified. My breath hitches, my limbs go all wobbly and I suddenly don't know how to speak. One of the few nice girls in my class taps my shoulder gently, not daring to say a word. I feel a tight knot in my throat and all I want to do is cry as I clumsily make my way up to the stage.

I look at Matthathias, who is grinning broadly. Our two mentors, Jungri and Julina, smile at me sympathetically. Jungri must be in his mid-fifties, whilst Julina is in her late twenties. As you may guess, we don't usually get many victors down here.

"Well, dear Iris – it is indeed an honor to meet you!" Mattathias pats my back kindly, and I stare at the audience in sheer shock. "Anything you might want to say?" I manage to shake my head lightly, and so he moves on to the semi-transparent bowl containing the names of every single boy between twelve and eighteen in our District. A little lated he pulls out the chosen name, "Francis Clearhorn!"

A little boy meekly walks out of the line and stares at Mattathias in horror. The poor thing, he must have only just turned twelve. He's the skinniest thing and looks smaller than five feet tall. I definitely won't be able to kill him if I have to – but a second later I realize that the careers would take a jolly good care of him anyway. A second later, however, a boy who's like a foot taller than me walks out of the crowd.

"I volunteer," he says dryly, quietly. I think I've seen him at school, but I don't know his name. He's very well-built and rather attractive, which is quite strange in our District. And he's volunteered, which is even stranger.

"Oh, we have a volunteer! Neat one." Mattathias grins once again and tells the boy to come onstage. Francis Clearhorn, still recovering from the fright, was sent back to his place in the crowd.

The new volunteer walks onstage with a serious, dry look on his face. He doesn't look very nice, to be honest. Mattathias asks him his name, and he replies confidently and firmly.

"Cade Allens."

"Well, very well done, Cade," says Matthathias, patting the boy's back. When Cade does a smug face at him, the escort meekly looks back at me. "Well, here we have our two tributes! Let's hope they do their best. Now," he looks at both of us. "Let's all shake hands, all right?"

I nod quietly, and Cade offers me his hand politely. I shake it, and then look right into his dark eyes.

So dark they could hold anything inside them.

* * *

**So yeah, Reaping 2 done. Thoughts, comments, ideas? Please let me know if I'm doing all right with your tributes.**

**Coming Next – Flinn Cooper, District 1.**

**By the way – GUYS GUYS GUYS, I JUST WATCHED CATCHING FIRE! OH MY GOSH IT'S SO GOOD I JUST HAVE NO WORDS FOR IT! IT'S LIKE THE BEST BOOK ADAPTATION I'VE EVER SEEN AND THERE WAS AN ACTUAL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND JOSH HUTCHERSON AND SAM CLAFLIN AND JENNIFER LAWRENCE OH MY F*CKING GOD I SWEAR IT WAS THE BEST THING EVER!**

**So yeah – GO SEE IT ASAP! You're gonna luuuuuurve it.**

~vandenburgs.


	5. Reaping III — Flinn Cooper, District 1

**Reaping III**

_Flinn Cooper, District 1_

x.x

"Be careful making wishes in the dark, can't be sure when they've hit their mark. And besides in the mean, mean time, I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart."

**My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark **— Fall Out Boy

x.x

My father once told me a man goes nowhere without a suit. A good impression equals a good prospect. That's why I'm getting my black bowtie ready today.

Then again, I was told that by the same man who used to beat me every night when I was a boy.

I walk out of the house before my parents notice I'm gone. I live with them and my uncle Geno, who's always been sort of like a father to me. My father came home late yesterday, and my right eye is still black and swollen from the punch he gave me after I tried to take him to his bedroom. It's not like I mind the ache anymore — I just kind of struggle with it, one way or another. It's hard for me to care about anything these days, much less my father and his aggressive ways.

_There you go, Flinny_, I think as I walk down the street and into the square town. I know I'm ought to volunteer this year – I've been told that so as to honour my family since I was around five years old. I don't even care anymore, but it still makes me wonder what does the whole Hunger Games thing feel like. Like, do you actually get that weird twinge in your stomach when you get to the Capitol? Some victors claimed having felt that way. I'm not even sure anymore – the only thing I can take for granted is that I'll have to volunteer this year if I want my family to keep their honour and their prestige in our District.

Soon, I'm rounded by a group of friends who start talking nonchalantly about this year's Reapings. I'm not even listening to them, to be entirely honest. I peer around and look at the group of twelve-year-olds, and there I find Ringo Matthews, waving at me shyly. As weird as it sounds, he's my only true friend in District 1. His sister used to fancy me, and I decided to take her to a school dance to make her happy. She died a few months later from a bad pneumonia, and I met little Ringo at her grave every morning – that's how we became friends.

I'm suddenly drawn out from my mouthing to Ringo by a girl who is insistently tapping my shoulder. I turn around and look patiently at her. I know her from school, although she's a couple years younger than me – Alisa or Talisa or Melissa or something.

"Hey there, Flinn!" she says, smiling widely at me.

I sigh. I'm not really in the mood for this. "Hey."

"I was just thinking – oh, gosh, you're actually gonna _volunteer_. That's so brave, and awesome," she moves a few inches closer to me and winks her eye. "And _sexy_."

I shrug, trying my best to ignore the girl. I have recently decided I won't mind women from this day on if I come back from the Games – because if I _do _come back, I'll be an entirely different person. I'll be scarred, marked, poisoned, pretty much nearly dead. I stare at my knuckles as the girl rambles off to how she really trusts I'll do well and that hopefully I'll be home soon as a victor.

A few moments later, one of my friends tells her to sod off. His name is Igor, and he's what you'd call a square-head and, well, an utter dumbshit. It's not like I enjoy insulting people or anything, but he _really_ is – I sometimes wonder if there's anything at all under those brown locks other than irrational amounts of oxygen. But yeah, he's the biggest guy at school, so it's better not to eff with him.

Our Capitol escort gleefully struts onstage and we all suddenly fall silent. Her name is Dana Blekto and she's a woman on her mid-twenties, wearing this huge green hat and colossal pink locks cascading from beneath it. Her dress is short and bright orange, and her eyes seem to be sort of . . . wait, is that _emerald green_? Well, I suppose she got herself matching eye colour for her dear hat. She has this smug expression on her face as she starts rambling about the Capitol and delivers her yearly speech – I hardly focus on her as I look around and wave one last time at Ringo.

Then she picks the female tribute's name. The chosen girl is a thirteen-year-old named Bianca Morrison. Unsurprisingly, there's a ton of older girls willing to volunteer, and after some arguing the chosen one is a sixteen-year-old by the name of Rebecca Star. By the looks of it, she's just another average tribute, so I suppose she shouldn't be too much trouble. I'll just swipe them off the Arena while they sleep.

"And now, the boys," says Dana, smiling gracefully at the audience. Truth be told, she'd be drop-dead gorgeous if she didn't wear such . . . odd attires. I glance at my friends as we wait for the male tribute to get picked.

"Kyle Kreusin."

Apparently Kyle is some plump fifteen-year-old who is somehow related to the mayor. I look around me and see my friends are staring at me, waiting for me to volunteer. Everyone at school knows me and would love to see me winning the Games, so I have no rivals this year. I look directly at the stage, then at my dad standing in the midst of the adult crowd. He nods seriously and with that I know I can't do anything but what I am about to do.

I raise my hand up high and yell, "I volunteer!"

Have I done wrong or right, I do not know.

* * *

**Well, that was it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm off to see Catching Fire again now – bahahah.**

**Coming next – Zoya Peshkov, District 6!**

~vandenburgs.


	6. Reaping IV — Zoya Peshkov, District 6

**Reaping IV**

_Zoya Peshkov, District 6_

x.x

"Greatness dies, unsung and lost, invisible to history; embedded spies brainwashing our children to be mean. (…) the time, it has come to destroy your supremacy"

**Supremacy **— MUSE

x.x

"C'mon, Zoya! We're running late!"

I hear my best friend Samara's voice calling me impatiently as I hop into my ballet slippers and tie them carefully. I'm wearing a yellow sundress today, with my hair in a ponytail and a white headband right atop of my horrid black fringe. I tousle my hair quietly, wondering whether do I look okay. It's not like there's anyone I need to be pretty for, really. Most guys my age are a sore pain on the neck and those who aren't are downright out of my league. I'm just – well, plain old Zoya. Slightly tanned skin, average height, black hair and hazel eyes.

I calmly strut downstairs, checking that everyone else has already left the house. My father left earlier this morning because he had to finish his shift at the lab before the Reaping, and mum left with my two younger sisters, Anya and Cecilia, only a little earlier. I walk outside and find Samara glaring at me impatiently.

"What were you doing?" she asks gruffly. "It took you _ages_ to get down here."

I shrug. "I was reading."

Samara rolls her eyes. Nearly no-one in our District reads books other than compulsory textbooks at school. But I do: I love reading, and I've been rummaging through my dad's humble collection of old books since I was very young. I've found books about things no-one in Panem would have ever dreamt of – societies where citizens voted for their presidents, long-lost revolutions in somewhere called France and colossal empires that spread all around the world. Of course, I'm aware that most of those books would have been absolutely banned at school, so I just keep them to myself and my dad most of the time.

"Come on, we're running late," says Samara, grabbing me by the wrist.

I snort, "You've already said that, Sam."

She rolls her eyes again and we both set foot to the town square, where the Reaping is ought to take place. I'm sixteen now, and my name is in four times – fat chance I'm getting reaped. Still, I'm worried as hell – particularly about one of my best friends, Scott, whose name is in twenty times this year.

We arrive at the town square and meet up with the rest of the gang – Scott, Cypress, Maria and Leonard. I can't help but roll my eyes at the last two, who have been dating for the last two weeks. I've never been a huge fan of cheesy relationships altogether, but these two particularly kill me. They're super smart and nice on their own, but then they seem to go completely nutters when they're together. Samara and Cypress start talking about our escort, who is a very tall and handsome Capitol man by the name of Augustus Nekron. I must admit he _is_ quite attractive – but not my type and age, anyway. I glance at Scott and smile kindly at him.

"How's school been lately?" Scott is a year above me and last years usually get a whole lot more work than we do. But aside from being one of my dad's most brilliant scholars, he's also a straight-A student.

He shrugs, humbly nodding his head. "Doin' fine, I suppose. You?"

"Fine too," I smile lightly. My voice lowers to a whisper and then I add, "I've finally managed to finish reading that bloody book. _War and Peace_, you know." Aside from my dad, Scott is just about the only person I know in District 6 who has ever bothered reading a book. And he has read a lot of them, indeed.

"Did you like it?" he asks teasingly, knowing it is a rather hard book to read. I roll my eyes and elbow him playfully, which only makes him laugh harder. Cypress and Samara glance at us with slight snorts on their faces, but I decide to ignore them. Apparently everyone things Scott and I are a thing, when we're just the greatest of friends.

We suddenly go quiet when our escort walks onstage. He's young, handsome, well-built and has a rather normal appearance for a Capitol citizen. He has girls drooling at his sight all over the square, but I simply snort and roll my eyes. Samara huffs and mumbles something about being a tomboy, whilst Scott chuckles and crosses his arms with a smile on his face. We're told the same rubbish than the previous years, and I honestly can't bother listening anymore. I look up at the sky and distractedly observe a couple of birds tweeting above us cheerfully. Oh, how I wish I could be a bird and just fly wherever I want . . . and perhaps poop on those I'm not very fond of.

"Well, the time has come, my dear District 6 teenagers," says Augustus a little while later, pulling off one of his great, charming smiles. I hear Cypress sighing next to me. "Ladies first."

I gulp quietly as Augustus places his hand inside the crystal orb and distractedly pulls out a random slip of paper. I close my eyes until I hear him calling out the name of this year's female tribute.

"Zoya Peshkov!"

Oh, no. Jesus, not me. I almost instantly hear how my girlfriends start sniffling and looking at me with devastated expressions, as does Leonard, who gives me a miserable pat on my shoulder. Scott, however, has gone white on the face. I myself feel rather dumb, without knowing what to do. I wonder if I could make a run for it, or if I could try and somehow steal a Peacekeeper gun and threaten Augustus and his drop-dead gorgeous face.

I feel how Scott grabs me ever so gently by the wrist and presses a kiss to my temple. It shocks me, as he has never kissed me before, not even on the cheek. I look at him, my eyes all teary, and he nods quietly. "You have to go there and win."

I gulp, and then I manage to nod. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I _will_ make it back home. One way or another.

* * *

**Weeeeell, there you go. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Next thing round – train rides! We'll be starting with Kai Seagray from District 4.**

**So yeah, any thoughts? There's that beautiful review button down there – remember, your reviews make me like your character(s) even more! (Only joking, but really I'd love to know if I'm doing all right with your tributes).**

~vandenburgs.


	7. Train Ride I — Kai Seagray, District 4

**Train Ride I**

_Kai Seagray, District 4_

x.x

"Troubled spirits on my chest where they laid to rest. The birds all left, my tall friend, as your body hit the sand."

**Your Bones **— Of Monsters and Men

x.x

The first thing I notice when I wake up on the train is that I'm being slightly observed by a figure I cannot yet make out in the distance. I rub my eyes and let out a long yawn before realizing the figure belongs to none other than the famous Annie Cresta, our female mentor. She offers me a wry smile and moves closer so as to give me something. I frown, not knowing what she's doing, and then I realize she wants to give me some breakfast.

"For you." she says, grinning.

I smile at her kindly, knowing of her condition. I take the small dish of food and she nods. A moment later, she walks away as if nothing has happened.

I frown lightly, wondering whether would I go insane like Annie if I win the Games. I've always thought I'm strong enough to be a good match to the careers, but who knows. I munch a little piece of carrot thoughtfully – who eats carrots for breakfast anyway? – and run my fingers down my coal-black hair just to sort my thoughts into place. I think of Finnick, our male mentor, and how he became the Capitol's golden boy after winning the Games at age fourteen. He is now near his thirties, but he is still what you would call the Capitol's hugest eye candy. Everyone adores him, and still he seems to have eyes for no-one but Annie Cresta. It's weird, isn't it? How love works. I suppose it's all about care and support in the end, not that fiery passion some girls tend to adore.

As I ponder over this, my compartment door slides open. There I find none other than Finnick Odair — twenty-nine years of age, a toddler son back in District 4 and an everlasting fiery smile on his face. He rubs his hands and then crosses his arms, glancing at me with a scanning look on his face.

"Well, well, well." He says, nodding repeatedly. "I think we haven't been introduced properly, Kai. Name's Finnick Odair." He offers me his hand and I shake it firmly, knowing that I probably need to give a good first impression if I want to . . . well, stay alive and everything. "I see you're eating what Annie brought you, right? Fantastic. Lana's gotten just the same thing. Should get your brains going before midday," he chuckles quietly at the mention of this year's female tribute. Her name is Lana, and she definitely seems like a tough cookie. I might try and become her ally, but I'm not sure yet.

"Anyhow," says Finnick, studying me carefully. It somehow bothers me to feel so obsessed. "I think we can work with your athletic aptitudes. From what I see you must be a fisher of some sort, right?" I nod quietly, and he gives me a grin. "Come on, Kai, I'm not gonna eat you or anything."

"I – uh – yeah, I'm a fisher," I end up mumbling, nodding carefully. "Working on shore most of the time, but yeah."

"Good, good," says Finnick approvingly. "So we've got . . . strength, running skills – do you think you're agile, Kai?" I shrug and nod, and he seems pleased. "Okay, great. We can work with that. I'll go talk to Annie and I'll see what she's gathered from – "

Finnick's words are cut rather abruptly by a loud yell coming from the other side of the train. Finnick's smug expression becomes a frown of worry, and he quickly leaps up from his seat next to my table and he glances outside the compartment, only to hear the voice yelling again.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I finally manage to recognize Lana's voice. I frown, looking at Finnick with a worried expression. Without saying a word, he bolts down the corridor to where I manage to spot Annie standing very still on the spot, her eyes brimmed with tears. I watch how he quickly runs up to her and places his arms around her, whispering what seems like comforting words into her ear. I can't hear a word, but from the look on their faces I assume they're managing to soothe her down. Lana is standing a few feet away from them, her hands over her mouth.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so, so, sorry, I . . . I don't know what happened, I just got really mad!"

Finnick shushes her with an angry gesture, and she looks at me desperately. I glare at her scornfully, but say nothing. Now that I come to think of it, perhaps the fact that Annie and Finnick might both like me better than Lana after this will incede positively on my performance in the Games. I look at her quietly and wonder if I should just leave her there, but then I see that she really does look desperate. After exhaling a long sigh, I signal her to come over to my compartment.

Once she's inside, I glance at her disdainfully. "What happened?"

She bites her lower lip nervously and fidgets with her t-shirt. "Annie said I was probably going to die and that she could do little about that. But at least she'd brought pancakes." I see how she gulps guiltily and I end up placing a hand on her shoulder. I don't even know why I'm doing it, but I don't think it's fair to make her look like the evil one around here anyway.

"Hey, don't worry," I say, trying to sound comforting. I've never been good at speaking to girls, but I try my best. "I'll try and talk to Finnick later. Tell him it was a mistake."

Lana nods quietly, and I decide to squeeze her shoulder gently and give her a comforting smile, to which she answers with a similar one. I've never really thought of having any allies in the Arena, but after giving it some thought I have come to the conclusion that Lana might be a useful one. Still, I do not dare mention it.

She leaves a little later. I peer out to the corridor and find that Finnick and Annie are sitting together in the train's small dining room. His arm is wrapped tightly around her shoulders and his lips are resting over her head. He flashes an apologetical look at me, and I simply shrug understandingly. I decide it'll be best to just let them be for the time being. I quietly walk down to my compartment and lay down on my bed yet again. I stare at the ceiling quietly, wondering what will become of me once I get to the Arena. There's twenty-three chances out of twenty-four that I'll die, and that won't change no matter what. You can be strong, smart, quick and cunning and then die because of something that's very simply out of your grasp. That's the Hunger Games, that's the Capitol; that's how life goes. And who am I to question that?

The answer seems to appear only a second later: I'm Kai Seagray, District 4 tribute in the 80th Hunger Games.

* * *

**Weeeeeell, there you go. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I honestly couldn't wait to write Annie and Finnick with Odesta being my otp and such and such. But anyhow, hope you liked it and pleeeease I'd love to know if I'm doing well with your characters so far!**

**Coming next – Daniel Berg, District 3!**

-vandenburgs.


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